


To Dwell on Dreams

by flitwickslittlebrotha



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Auror Harry Potter, Bottom Draco Malfoy, First Time, Gasp! and there was only one bed!, Godfather Harry and Cousin Once Removed Draco, M/M, POV Draco Malfoy, Porn With Plot, Post-Canon, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Sharing a Bed, Smut, Wet Dream, yes there's a little bit of teddy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:09:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28906881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flitwickslittlebrotha/pseuds/flitwickslittlebrotha
Summary: "Draco’s room was plenty large enough for two people. It was just like those nights he’d had Crabbe or Goyle or Zabini over at his place. Nothing different.Except, of course, this was Potter, who was nothing like his Slytherin friends."Attacks on the Malfoys send a group of aurors to the Manor, including one particular auror-in-training. After a grueling day of work, and at Narcissa's insistence, the aurors are led to spare rooms to stay the night in the house. Except, the Manor is one bed short.A PWP that ended up being a PwithP.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 20
Kudos: 485





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This author condemns J.K. Rowling and all transphobia

The Malfoys had been dealt a better hand than some, after the War. Lucius had been sent to Azkaban, yes, but Narcissa and Draco were sentenced with two years community service. No prison time. Draco had spent it volunteering at the Muggle Center in Hogsmeade. For two years his unpaid labor involved filing wand applications for squibs, charting unusual magical activity in muggle households, scheduling Hogwarts scouts to confirm the abilities of young muggleborn children, and all other business related to the frayed and tense liminal space between their world and his.

But the people were nice. Of all the things he hadn’t expected, it had been for the people to be nice. But they were. Not a single one of them sneered at his pureblood features or disgraced last name. He was careful to keep his tattoo hidden, wearing long-sleeves even in the summer, but he had a feeling that his coworkers wouldn’t flinch if he accidentally let it slip.

So he stayed on. He’d been working at the Center for four years now, ever since the end of his trial. And he’d been trying, really trying, to be a better version of himself. The version of himself he might have been if he hadn’t been raised a Malfoy, if he hadn’t surrounded himself with the children of his father’s friends, if he hadn’t grown up with so singular a perspective. The kind of young man he might be if he’d talked to a muggleborn at any point in the eighteen years of life before his second one started.

He tried making new friends. It wasn’t easy – he was still _him_ , after all. But slowly, he’d started mingling with those familiar faces he’d scorned for so long. When he ran into Justin Finch-Fletchey at a bar four years ago, he’d stayed for a conversation and even bought the other man a drink. When his co-worker invited him as a plus-one to The Quibbler’s annual Yule Ball the following year, he’d spent a surprisingly-pleasant evening befriending Luna Lovegood. Two years ago he’d been sent the invitation directly, to the Patils’ summer garden party, where he made awkward but efficient conversation with Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan. And for the past year he’d been a regular presence at Neville Longbottom’s intimate dinner parties. _Neville Longbottom_ , of all people.

Still, despite Draco's gradual acceptance back into the society he’d once tried to destroy, the Malfoys were subject to their fair share of vitriol. He and his mother haunted the Manor, a cold and empty place whose happiness came in fits and spurts, most often when Aunt Andromeda would visit with the grubby little Teddy. Even their presence, though, was not enough to keep the attacks at bay.

Howlers that crashed through windows with the force of their aggression. Jinxes that made the whole house shake. Hexes that poured ash through the walls. And on two very memorable and very terrifying occasions, thieves that apparated right into their dining room and trashed the place.

It was Andromeda’s suggestion (and likely her influence) that brought Draco to the situation currently facing him: a room full of aurors in the great hall. His mother had politely appealed to the department for assistance, and with the persuasion and pockets of a Black, she had succeeded in securing their help. Monday morning, and a small team was gathered in the Manor, prepared to protect their house from spells and intrusions. Even the Malfoy name wasn’t enough to deter them, and it was quite obvious the department had sent over some of its best witches and wizards. And a trainee. One trainee. One _particular_ trainee.

Harry Potter was standing in his hall.

The two had… not quite made _amends_ , per se. But they also weren’t actively trying to hurt each other, either. In fact, their delicate relationship was best aided by the fact that they hadn’t shared two words since the War. Not a _hello_. Not a _how are you._ Still, they had seen enough of each other. Potter was always a guest at Longbottom’s dinners. And Diagon Alley only had so many taverns. Every so often their paths would cross, and they’d greet each other with a nod or a forced smile.

It was a good arrangement. It kept Draco in check, in control, pretending. Unable to act on the things he refused to even think about.

Draco was in the hallway, about to join his mother in greeting the team, when he noticed that unmistakable ruffle of dark hair. That, and his mother’s surprised expression, was enough confirmation that Potter had, indeed, been brought along on this particular mission. Draco refused to consider why he immediately turned on his heel and scrambled for a simple suit jacket to throw over his button down, why he made sure his hair was slicked back and neat, why it suddenly mattered to him very much that he look presentable.

Then he turned back and entered the hall.

His mother’s face lit up, and she gestured to Draco. “My son, of course, Draco,” she said by way of introduction. Half a dozen faces turned toward him, but Draco wasn’t ready to face one of them yet. He smiled tightly at his mother. “I’m afraid I have some business to go over with my sister, but Draco will make himself available should you need anything. Please don’t hesitate to ask.”

Draco glared at her but she only leveled him with a look that reminded him why they had to play nice. That reminded Draco he was trying to _be_ nice. He sighed, and smiled.

“Of course,” he conceded. “I’ll try to stay out of your way.” He installed himself in an armchair in the corner of the room, near the window.

The small group of aurors set up shop, opening toolkits that tripled in size after being unlocked. They waved their wands with curious expressions, conducting sweeps of the estate to determine what they were working with. One handed Potter a very thick and heavy-looking manual, pointing to something on one of the pages. Draco watched Potter nod along in concentration, looking between the page and the auror. Draco was surprised; he didn’t remember Potter being a particularly hard-working student. Then again, Draco knew how easy it was to skive off classes he found boring and only try at the ones he thought would be particularly useful. Potter clearly found this work more useful than their shared history classes.

Then Potter was thanking the auror and turning away, walking straight toward Draco. He barely had time to adjust his posture, slouching into an uninterested bored pose, before Potter was upon him. Their eyes met briefly, and Draco raised an eyebrow, before Potter turned toward the window. He looked back down at his manual, then drew his wand and uttered a curse too low for Draco to identify. A thin stream of pink emanated from the tip of his wand, lining along the windowpane like glue. Then it vanished. Potter smiled.

He turned to Draco, who quickly looked away when he realized he’d been staring the whole time. He grabbed a book from the stack beside the chair, but his hand paused on the cover when a voice spoke.

“Hello,” Potter said. “How are you?”

Well. That was a first.

Draco looked up and saw a polite yet guarded expression on the other’s face. _Polite_ and _guarded_ were not words he usually used to describe Potter’s glances toward him. Normally they were _curious_ and _intense_ and _spellbinding_ and sometimes something like _hungry_ , except not quite, because there was no reason for that.

Draco schooled his features into something polite and guarded, too.

“I’m well,” he replied. “And yourself?”

“Good.”

“That’s good.” They were still staring at each other, and Draco didn’t know if he was supposed to turn away or not. He settled on not. “Congrats on your acceptance,” he said, gesturing to the group of aurors. Not that the department could ever deny the man who had defeated one of the most feared wizards of all time. Still, he was being polite. And guarded.

“Thank you,” Potter replied. “And congrats on your promotion,” he countered. Draco frowned, unsure how Potter had heard, until he remembered he’d been talking about it in the Leaky Cauldron last month, where the two had run into each other. Potter hadn’t said anything about it at the time, but then again, he hadn’t said anything ever. “It’s been… _nice_ to see you around more. With everyone else, I mean. With my friends. With—not my friends, but—” Potter sighed, and Draco truly could not figure out why he was trying to say. “I’m glad you’re not as isolated as some of the others,” he finally finished. And then Draco knew what it meant. He knew the other exonerated Death Eaters and their children – sons of Yaxleys and Rookwoods and Goyles – didn’t try as hard to rehabilitate themselves in magical society. Would never dream of sharing butterbeers with Jordans and Abbotts and Creeveys.

Draco nodded, sharp and short. He hadn’t considered that Potter had an opinion on his new life choices. Somehow his approval made something gnaw at his chest. He ignored it.

“Yes, well. I can only say I’m glad I’ve been so welcomed,” Draco acknowledged. Then he raised an eyebrow, looking up to the high ceiling in the hall. “Although…”

Potter looked up as well and frowned. “Yes. That.” He looked back down at Draco with the faintest trace of a smirk. “Perhaps not _so_ welcomed.”

Draco found himself smirking back. “Perhaps not.”

The rest of the day passed in agonizingly-slow hours. Round after round of protective spells were cast out. Windows were magically sealed, fireplaces were guarded, alarms were set. And still, the aurors weren’t satisfied. And still the Manor was left vulnerable.

Lunch arrived, and although his mother offered to make something for the team, only Draco followed her into the kitchen. Teddy and Andromeda were already waiting at the table, reminding Draco of his life outside the big dusty hall. Reminding him that he had taken off work this week to spend more time with his oddity of a cousin, reminding him that they had plans to go to the zoo tomorrow, reminding him that his life was carrying on even amidst the stress of the attacks that hit the Manor. The stress he had been refusing to acknowledge until today, until the possibility of enduring them forever in the failure of the aurors work became increasingly more likely.

He pushed the thought away, focusing on the present as he listened to his mother and his aunt fuss over a benefit they had agreed to support. Teddy was watching just as attentively, with a face so unlike any of theirs. A face that was round and soft, lacking any trace of Black angularity. Russet brown hair that Draco had seen turn red a couple of times, big eyes that were kind and trusting.

As he pushed away from the table at the end of the meal he walked over and scooped Teddy up in his arms. Four years ago he would never had held a kid in his arms, but four years ago he hadn’t known Teddy. _Malfoys should have had more kids_ , he thought. Maybe then they would have developed more cuddly personalities. And perhaps also if they’d bothered to raise their kids themselves, without the help of house elves.

“Hey Wolfie,” he said fondly. He heard his mother tsk but Andromeda only chuckled. “Did Grandma tell you? We have a vistor.”

“Oh please, Draco, don’t bring him in there, it’s not safe,” his mother reprimanded. Draco didn’t even know why he was doing it, why he was bothering. To make the kid happy, he justified. Nothing at all to do with his desire to soften his image.

“I won’t, I’ll just bring him in instead,” he replied, referring to the other _him_ in the equation.

“Who’s here?” Teddy asked, sticking his hands in Draco’s hair. Instinct brought his own hands up to swat the offending ones away, and he only caught himself just in time.

“Wait here,” he said, placing Teddy down on the table.

He walked back to the hall, where the aurors were still all paused for their own lunch, eating out of containers. Potter was sitting one step too far from them, making it apparent he hadn’t quite bonded with the others yet. This would make the question easier to ask.

“Potter?” Draco heard himself say. He called him over, and didn't let himself dwell on how Potter came without question. He led them to the kitchen.

“Harry!” Teddy exclaimed, delighted to see Potter in the doorway. His godfather went over and scooped the little guy up, much as Draco had done earlier. He stayed in the doorway, watching. “Why are you here?”

“I’m here to help,” Potter explained, using a voice Draco had never heard him use. “You know all those bumps in the night?” Teddy nodded, tugging himself closer to Potter’s chest. “Well I’m here to make them go away.”

“That’s nice. Why are you doing that?” Teddy asked, focusing on Potter’s hair now. He didn’t seem to mind.

“It’s my job,” Potter replied. Teddy’s face fell just a bit, and Draco smirked at the foot Potter had just put in his mouth. “And because I want to,” he continued.

“That’s nice,” Teddy repeated. He turned to Draco. “Harry’s nice.” Green eyes turned to him next. Draco swallowed.

“He is nice,” he agreed.

The aurors made their way back to work, shooting spells and murmuring incantations with such a frequency Draco stopped bothering to understand what they were doing. He merely languished in his armchair, feeling entirely useless and unneeded and considering how easily he could slip away to his room without his mother noticing.

The day was turned into night, and still the aurors had not been able to fully protect the Manor. Every time they thought they had mastered each spell, fully blocked off portkeys and floos and apparitions, one of the older wizards would step outside and release a full round of tests only to find a hole in their defenses. It was agonizingly frustrating work.

Draco knew to keep quiet, knew it wasn’t his place to question the men and women who were doing everything in their power to keep him and his family safe, but he couldn’t help the annoyed huff that escaped his lips as the house rocked for the seventh time that day.

One of the witches threw him a glance. Of all the aurors she seemed the most sympathetic, and it wasn’t until Draco had caught the little house crest tattooed inside her wrist that he realized she was a Slytherin, and well-familiar with stigma and exile. Now, she casually walked past Draco, careful not to seem too considerate, and spoke more to the window than to him.

“You know, places like Hogwarts are so well-protected because they’ve had centuries of spells cast and recast. Scores of different wands throwing those spells, not just a small handful. Not just a lifetime of security established in a single day,” she explained, perceptive and answering the exact question Draco hadn’t been bold enough to ask.

“Looks like you’ll need more than a day,” he grumbled, but the auror let the comment go.

He was right though. It was now well-dark outside, and Draco could see his own constellation appearing through the grand window. This was clearly going to be a two-day job.

His mother sighed from the door to the hallway that lead toward the kitchen. She had changed since Draco had last seen her; now she was wearing a simple silk sheath under a heavier green robe, delicately inlaid with gold stitching. Beautiful even still, his mother.

“So you haven’t succeeded,” she stated. Draco sank further in his chair. Now that he was more mature, trying for the first time in his life not to be a total prat, he realized how awful his family could sound at times. And he knew from experience that more often than not they weren’t trying to insult anyone. They just had been raised by parents who spoke the same way, who never considered anyone’s feelings outside their own small circle. He glanced over at Potter in his embarrassment, hoping to convey that he really wasn’t like that anymore, but Potter wasn’t looking back at him. All the better – what did he care what Potter thought of him?

“Mrs. Malfoy, I don’t think you understand—” the head auror began, face clouding over at her insinuation of his incompetency.

She held up a hand to stop him. “I’m sorry,” she conceded. “I didn’t mean to insult you. I was simply making an observation.” Her voice was so soft and yet so powerful. Even with a wrinkled face, tired and full of sorrow, Narcissa Malfoy could make a room bend to its knees. “I know it’s a long flight back to London, and if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather you didn’t apparate or use the floo network. After all, we’re trying to seal up the house, aren’t we?”

“I understand,” the head auror said, resting his hands on his hips. “Long flight or not, ma’am, that’s part of the job, but rest assured we’ll be back tomorrow morning.”

“Well,” his mother continued, stepping into the great hall. The gold in her robe shimmered under the candles in the chandelier. Draco had charmed them himself one summer – they burned rose gold instead of yellow. It cast the room in a perpetual summer twilight. “As long as you’re here tomorrow morning I am satisfied. But I thought I’d extend the offer. The Manor is, as you’re well-aware, quite large. And although family is staying with us we have more than enough room for the bunch of you. I have digestifs in the salon, and a warm fire in every spare bedroom. If you’d rather stay here for the night it would be no bother at all.”

Draco looked sharply up at his mother. Everything she had said was true, of course. The Manor _was_ quite large, and they _did_ have spare bedrooms, and Mother always _loved_ to entertain guests with drink and conversation, and it _had_ been so long since she’d a friend to charm. And Draco could certainly see the appeal from the aurors’ perspective – a night in luxury had to be preferable to a flight through the countryside back to London in the cold night wind, not to mention a return trip in the morning.

But the thought of Potter staying under his roof made his stomach twist. It wasn’t even that, really. The thought of Potter walking through his _house_ , seeing the things that Draco had grown up with that had made him _him._ Drinking his favorite brands out of Draco’s favorite glassware, finding the most comfortable chair in the salon and curling up in it like Draco had done so many times. Wandering through the hallways and finding portraits of himself, growing up through the years, a haughty smile and a wink looking down at him always, a reminder of the boy he was trying to outgrow.

The thought of all _that_ made him look at Narcissa with horror.

But she was smiling pleasantly at the group of aurors. Men and women she had fought against in the war, wizards and witches who had shown her mercy, people that she, too, was now trying to please in this new version of herself she was building.

Movement drew his eye away, and he saw the aurors were all sharing glances as they shuffled their feet, looking to one another for confirmation of their choice. This time when Draco looked at Potter, he caught his eye. Only for the briefest of seconds, green meeting gray, and then Potter looked away, swallowing visibly.

“That would be very kind,” the head auror said, accepting his mother’s offer. She smiled pleasantly, then invited them to the salon when they were ready.

Draco declined the nightcap, setting off to his bedroom instead. He’d had a long day of sulking and brooding and he was looking forward to a long night in the same fashion. His bedroom was the second best in the house, right after his parents’. A wide open room with hardwood floors covered by a great big rug, handmade in Morocco. A four poster bed big enough to fit a family topped with expensive sheets and quilts. A fireplace bordered by hand-painted tiles that told the story of Hercules and the dragon, his namesake. The room faced the estate behind the Manor, with all of the gardens and green spilling out for hectares, dusted over now with the indigo haze of evening. He had a good view of the dragon from his wide windows, as well as Ursa Major.

He walked over to his desk, where stacks of papers were reminding him of the work he should have been doing today. Could he blame himself, though, for his curiosity? It wasn’t every day a group of aurors dropped by the home of a Death Eater rotting away in Azkaban and tried to _help_ its occupants rather than arrest them. Mere curiosity, that’s what had held Draco’s attention all day.

He wasn’t quite tired yet, so he took a book from the desk and dragged his armchair to the window. Losing track of time, immersing himself in the book, he didn’t look up until he heard his door open.

His mother stood in the doorway, and behind her, a very wide-eyed and stricken Harry Potter.

He snapped the book shut and sat up straight.

“Draco, darling?” his mother asked.

“What?” he replied. It meant more than _what do you want_. It also meant _what did you just say? I was distracted by the sight of Harry Potter in my bedroom_ and it also meant _what is Harry Potter doing in my bedroom._

Narcissa pursed her lips. “Not asleep yet, are you?”

Draco rolled his eyes and gestured to his book. “Obviously not.” He was being nasty, he knew it, but something about Potter’s presence made him forget to be good.

“Well. All the guest rooms are full and I thought since you and Harry are closest in age, he might share your room tonight?”

Time stopped. The air crackled. His lungs collapsed. More accurately, Draco’s jaw fell open and his eyes went flat. Potter was looking at his shoes.

“Darling?” His mother’s eyes were sharp and her mouth just as lethal. Her expression said _be polite to power_ and _we need people to like us_ and even more so _don’t be a fuckup, Draco._

Logically, it made sense. Potter was closer in age to Draco than any of the senior aurors. And certainly closer in spirit, too – he’d only been training in his position for a little over a year, whereas he’d known Draco since they were little boys. And Draco’s room was plenty large enough for two people. It was just like those nights he’d had Crabbe or Goyle or Zabini over at his place. Nothing different.

Except, of course, this was _Potter_ , who was nothing like his Slytherin friends.

Draco swallowed, and bowed his head graciously, with all the ease of his blue blood.

“Of course, not a problem,” he murmured. His eyes found Potter’s, and they were impossible to read.

“Thank you, Draco,” his mother said. She turned to Potter. “Draco can show you where the towels are if you’d like to shower, and he has extra pajamas, as well.”

Potter gave her a winning smile, the same one Draco had seen him use on professors and reporters. Undeniably appealing, undeniably fake. “Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy. You’ve been so generous tonight. And I have high hopes for tomorrow, I’m sure we finish up today’s work in a matter of short hours.”

Draco watched his mother give him a kind pat on the shoulder, and then she turned and left the room, closing the door behind her.

It was silent.

Potter glanced up at Draco, then looked back to his shoes. For a world-famous celebrity, survivor of dragons and dark wizards and dementors, training to be an auror and to jump right back into the line of fire, Potter still looked so young and boyish. Still couldn’t get his hair to lie flat, still wore schoolboy shoes and a worn-out watch.

Draco stood, awkwardly, bumping into one of the arms of the chair on his way up. Potter looked back at him, this time with the thinnest trace of a smile, and Draco couldn’t help the flare of competition at the sight of Potter’s amusement on his behalf.

“Bathroom’s this way,” he said, walking around his bed and gesturing to one of the closed and ornate doors. But Potter only held up a hand.

“It’s okay. I didn’t work as hard as the others today,” he demurred. But he did take off his uniform robe, revealing well-fitted jeans and a crisp button-down. Perhaps not such a schoolboy after all.

“You can hang that in the closet,” Draco instructed, flat, even. He was trying not to think about how bizarre this scenario was: his childhood rival in his childhood home. Himself, disgraced and at his mercy, Potter with the inarguable upper hand.

To his credit, Potter said nothing of the strange arrangement. Yet. They had still to discuss the four-postered elephant in the room.

Wordlessly, the two of them worked in tandem to hang the robe, Potter handing it over and Draco exchanging it for a monogrammed set of silk pajamas. He winced as he offered them, but all of his comfortable old tshirts had mysteriously vanished once he moved back into the manor. If Potter thought less of him for it, he didn’t say, as he tucked his shoes at the bottom of the armoire.

“Er, let me grab an extra toothbrush,” Draco said. He closed the door softly behind him, walking through the darkened but so-familiar hallway that led to the large closet of linens and hygiene products. He grabbed the first one he found – Gryffindor red, he belatedly noticed – and headed back to his room.

Potter had changed, the shine of his pajamas reflecting the moonlight in rippling waves. He was standing by Draco’s desk, looking intently at the moving photographs. He picked one up, and Draco swallowed when he recognized the frame.

“Nosy, much?” he asked. Potter turned with a jump, and hid the frame behind his back like a child caught stealing. Draco raised an eyebrow and offered the toothbrush without comment.

Potter took it. “Thanks,” he said. Then he turned the frame out to Draco, as if he would need to see the photo to know what image it held. “Second year?” he asked. There was another question in his voice, asking about more than the date of the scene. Because it was a photo of a very small Draco, decked out in green and silver, balancing on a broom with an arm outstretched. He was reaching for the snitch, Draco knew that, the memory of his first quidditch game still so clear in his memory. But from the angle the photographer had shot, it looked like Draco was reaching for Potter himself, equally small and just as focused on his own broom, red-gloved hands so close to winged gold.

His father had gone ballistic after the match, threatening to revoke his generous donation of brooms if Slytherin lost to Gryffindor again. But his mother had cut the photograph from the newspaper and proudly framed it. And for some reason, although Draco had swapped pictures of Hogsmede for London, family portraits for friends, he had never changed that particular photo. It was yellowing and crinkled, but still just as vivacious as those two boys had been some ten years ago.

“Correct,” Draco said. He ignored the second question in Potter’s voice, the one that asked _why._ He was so close, green eyes too bright behind those stupid round glasses, the one thing that hadn’t changed in Draco’s life as he grew from a pompous little brat to a less-pompous man.

“We should –” Potter stopped himself. Abruptly, he walked back to the desk, putting the photo back in a jerky movement. Just as swiftly he turned back to face Draco, and Draco recognized that steely look that preceded all of Potter’s dumbest – and bravest, he had to admit – moves. “We should do a rematch sometime. Just the two of us and a snitch.”

Draco felt those golden wings take flight in his chest, and he forced them down. He would _not_ give power to those thoughts, the ones that arose when he met Potter’s eye from across one of Longbottom’s dinner parties, or through a window in Diagon Alley when Draco walked past the Leaky Cauldron after work hours.

Instead, he smiled something thin and unassuming, turning away to retrieve his own pajamas. “I haven’t sought a snitch since I was sixteen, Potter. It would hardly be a fair match.” When he turned back Potter was trying to stifle a yawn. His eyes betrayed him, glancing over at the bed, before they flashed to Draco’s and then to the floor, a blush arising on his face. Draco felt his own cheeks warm. There was no avoiding it, so he might as well get it over with now.

“Please, feel free to take the bed,” he said, forcing his voice to sound as smooth and reassuring as he could make it. “You’ve had a long day.” Before he could stick his foot in his mouth he hurried to the bathroom.

It was far larger than any bathroom he’d used in the Slytherin tower, yet still small enough that changing felt difficult, as he was used to throwing his clothes all over his bedroom. He folded his trousers neatly instead, and moved to the sink to wash up.

Splashing water on his face, Draco took a moment to examine his reflection. Still just as angular, just as _pointy_ , as he’d always been. A nose he found too sharp, lips he found too thin, eyes barely more than slits. He sighed, mussing up his hair to distract from the face he longed to trade in for one that looked less like his father’s. He pouted a bit, trying to find a handsome-enough angle, until he realized what he was doing and quickly stopped. There was no need to make _Potter_ think he was handsome, after all.

He opened the bathroom door as quietly as he could, expecting to find the man in question curled up in his bed. Instead, Potter was still standing there, looking delicate and awkward in Malfoy’s borrowed clothes. Draco hung his suit jacket back up.

“Um,” he said. He couldn’t think of anything else. What was there to say when the situation inevitably led to two former rivals sharing a ridiculously luxurious bed? “Um,” he said again.

“I don’t want to kick you out of your bed,” Potter explained, avoiding eye contact. “It’s your home.”

“Nonsense,” Draco scoffed, falling into his familiar superiority. “You’re not kicking me out, we’ll just—” _share_ died on his tongue. He couldn’t find the strength to say it. He tried again. “I’m just going to read for a bit. I’ll keep the light low. So really, you should take the bed, you’ve got to work harder tomorrow than you did today if you want Mother to pay for the job.” Familiar superiority.

“You can’t stay in that chair all night,” Potter pointed out, still looking anywhere but back at him. He yawned.

“I will not,” Draco said simply, because _really_ , was he going to be forced to say it?

Potter tried to protest again. “I—”

“For Merlin’s sake, Harry! I can only imagine that bed is bigger than your whole flat, so just get in and quit whining! It’s not that big of a deal, there’s more than enough room for the both of us!”

Potter’s eyes widened. For a moment Draco wasn’t sure if the outburst was too much (it was hard to gauge _too much_ these days when his standard was verbal abuse and condescension) or if maybe it had something to do with his slipup in using Potter’s first name. But then his whole face relaxed into a smile and he chuckled a bit.

“I’ll have you know my flat is _somewhat_ larger, thank you very much,” he joked, finally moving over the bed. “Although not by much. I’d expect nothing less for a Malfoy, of course.”

“Shut up,” Draco grumbled. “You’re just as rich as me, Boy Wonder.”

Potter just laughed again, and turned down the heavy quilt on Draco’s bed. He took off his glasses and placed them on the nightstand, and Draco tried very hard not to be distracted by their proximity to his own belongings.

It was easy after that, after the initial tension had been broken. True to his word, Draco went back to his armchair and picked up his book again, although he was quite tired himself. Still, far better to blearily attempt to read than to tuck himself under the covers alongside Potter. No, he’d wait until the other man was fully unconscious before he underwent the mortifying ordeal of sharing his bed.

His constellation had already shifted in the night sky, on the edge of his vision through the window and soon to be vanished in the inky blue completely. And once it had, Draco turned back to his bed to find Potter fast asleep on the far side.

He sighed and faced the inevitable, tugging down his half of the quilt. He slipped into the bed that had always been so familiar and safe, and now felt charged with something dangerous. He had meant what he’d said though – there was an ocean of space between his body and Potter’s, and while an infinitesimally small part of him wanted that ocean to dry up and vanish, the larger part of him was overwhelmingly grateful.

It wasn’t long before he drifted off to sleep.

***

He woke up some time in the night to unfamiliar noise. What with Teddy and Andromeda moved back into the Manor unfamiliar noise wasn’t exactly uncommon, but what bothered him was how _close_ the noise was. As if it were in the same bed as him.

And then he remembered Harry Potter was in the same bed as him.

He squeezed his eyes shut, his brain clear and bright after the few hours of sleep it had gotten. He didn’t want to be this conscious with _Harry Potter_ in his bed.

Then he heard the noise again, and his eyes flew open.

At first it sounded like choking, and then it sounded like groaning. He felt the body shift next to him, subtle but erratic. He was no stranger to night terrors himself. Joining the Death Eaters would do that to you. And he figured with the life Potter had lived, he also had his fair share.

It was nothing more than pity that made Draco lean over and gently shake the other man’s shoulder.

At his touch, Potter’s moaning only grew, his body pressing deep into the mattress. Draco shook harder, squeezing his bicep.

“Potter,” he whispered.

“Mmm,” Potter moaned back.

“ _Potter,_ wake up,” Draco hissed, digging his nails into the flesh under his palm.

“Mmmalfoy,” Potter gasped. All at once his body went rigid, and Draco felt him wake up beneath his fingers. Potter looked back at him, green eyes wide in the moonlight. “Malfoy?” he questioned, face flushed and lips parted. Draco felt that feeling back in his chest, the one he tried to ignore. The one that was clawing its way out right now.

“You were dreaming,” Malfoy said, suddenly embarrassed. His hand was still clutching Potter’s bicep. He tried to pull it away, but it had been wanting for too long. The last time they’d touched it was violent and fierce, and his traitorous body was finding it preferred this persistent gentleness.

Potter swallowed hard, green eyes dipping, and Malfoy chided himself for thinking they were looking at his own lips. _Wishful thinking_ , he thought, and then chided himself again for wishing it.

“Yeah,” Potter said, voice breathy and faraway. This was a different Potter than any of the versions he knew. Not the brash Gryffindor or the frightened kid or the level-headed leader or even the mature young man he’d grown into. This was Potter raw: the one who had watched his parents be murdered, the one who had survived his aunt and uncle, the one who had been tortured by his professors and been left behind by his loved ones. The one who had looked him in the eye on the top of the Astronomy Tower, watching Draco try to kill the man he had once revered. The Harry Potter who was scared, and bold because of it.

“I thought… I thought it was a nightmare?” Draco asked, his voice weak and uncertain. Everything about him was weak and uncertain. What was happening?

Potter rolled over, turning to face him fully, looking up at Draco who was still leaning over him, still so close, on the other side of their ocean.

“It wasn’t,” Potter said simply. Draco watched in fascination as the fear drained from his eyes, leaving only the boldness behind.

“You were… making noises,” Draco insisted. Why wasn’t he moving away?

“I was,” Potter replied. His eyes were so green.

“It wasn’t a nightmare?” Potter shook his head. His eyes were boring into Draco’s, and in them Draco saw every challenge over dueling wands. Every glare over opposing brooms. Every lingering stare over glasses of butterbeer and over the shoulders of laughing friends and at the side of the dancefloor when they were the last two not dancing.

He also knew what kind of dream it was.

And Draco dared himself to be bold.

“Show me?” he asked. Potter sucked in a breath, his lips parting in surprise. But Draco forced himself not to panic. And if there was one thing Draco knew, it was self-control. For the first time in his life, he let himself want what he’d been wanting for years. He let himself want _this_.

Potter’s hand came up to grab Draco’s where it was still clutching his arm. And then, he dragged it down, never breaking eye contact, until it settled over his cock.

Potter was hard.

He was also looking up at Draco with the true face of a Gryffindor, daring him to give in, daring him to _take._ Wanting him right back.

It was quick after that.

Draco wasted no time, feeling fearless and desperate in the darkened light, feeling like night’s onyx cloak that draped over the sky was draped over him as well, bending the rules so things that weren’t allowed by the light of day were given the reins to their freedom now. He palmed his hand once, twice, then took it away. Potter made a fraught noise beneath him, until Draco shoved his hand under Potter’s waistband, skin on skin, and the noise turned into a moan.

Draco’s lips crashed into Potter’s neck, kissing and licking and biting and loving every writhing squirm below him, every choked sound. His hand moved quicker, tighter, more insistent, until he could stand it no longer and threw his whole body on Potter’s, replacing his hand’s rhythm with that of his grinding hips.

For his part, Potter grabbed Draco’s arse, following Draco’s lead by squeezing it only once before tucking both of his hands under the waistband and pulling down. His newfound nudity made the brush of borrowed silk Potter was wearing agonizingly delicious against his cock, and he didn’t even care if he ruined his own pajamas by leaking all over them.

Quickly, not heeding delicacy or grace, he tore open the buttons on Potter’s shirt, throwing the garment on the floor. His hips never lost their movement as his mouth moved farther down, sucking a spot at Potter’s collarbone. The other man let out a whine so loud Draco was suddenly afraid the whole Manor could hear their activities, but he didn’t have time to think about it when Potter rolled them over, crawling onto Draco’s lap.

He made quick work of Draco’s shirt until he was laying naked under the boy who’d occupied so much of his attention for so long. His younger self might never have imagined this exact scenario, but he’d known from that first auspicious meeting that he’d never be satisfied unless Potter was in his life causing trouble.

Potter leaned down, lips heading for Draco’s, and at the last moment Draco turned away, Potter’s lips finding Draco’s jaw instead. If he thought anything of it he didn’t say, merely followed Draco’s lead as he grinded his hips down, thighs splayed indecently on either side of him.

“Get up,” Draco growled, and Potter happily obliged. Then the last article of clothing between them was shed, and they were tumbling back to the bed, Potter’s head hitting the pillow with a soft sound.

All of him was laid bare before Draco, from those green eyes so much darker than Draco had ever seen them, to that spot between his legs that Draco couldn’t look away from – the curve of his cock.

Draco leaned in, and sucked.

He was not great at this. In fact, with his ruined reputation Draco had not dared to touch another man since Hogwarts, and even back then it had only been simple fooling around when the girls weren’t putting out. A means to an end, where skill and technique didn’t matter as much as pure need. Still, a Malfoy was nothing if not very good at persuasion, and so Draco tried to make it seem like he was a quite proficient cocksucker.

From the way Potter was moaning above him, he might actually have been.

A hand tangled in his hair, strong and firm and reassuring without pressuring. A hand that asked a question, a question Draco answered with a sharp look up. Green met gray, and then Potter started moving his hips, thrusting up into Draco’s willing mouth. Draco wrapped an arm around a thigh, thick with muscle and twitching slightly with pleasure.

“M-Malfoy, stop,” Potter stuttered out, voice much higher than it had been before. Draco pulled off, panic rising steadily in his chest. But Potter was quick to reassure him. “I – oh _Merlin_ —” Draco was palming him now – “I want – if you want, that is, I would want…”

“Yes,” Draco breathed out. Yes to anything, anything Potter wanted.

“Together?” he asked, reaching down to stroke Draco.

“Yes,” Draco repeated. He rolled onto his back, pulling Potter on top, and lifted his legs to wrap around his torso. Potter’s eyes widened at Draco’s less-than-subtle invitation, and then he nodded furiously.

“Yes,” he echoed. Draco reached up to bite down on his shoulder. “That is, if you’re saying…” Potter rolled his hips down in an imitation of what they were about to do, confirming what exactly Draco had in mind. Their cocks brushed and as mind-numbingly good as it felt, Draco wanted it to move a little lower.

“Yes,” he parroted back. His back was arched, his hands clutching at his sheets, his legs were spread and his hole was only inches from Potter’s cock. How much more obvious did he need to be?

“Um, do you…” Potter started to ask, voice hesitant but hips no less persistent in their steady rhythm, sliding over his own so good. Draco knew vaguely there were spells for such occasions, but he’d yet an opportunity to learn them. And when he played with himself, he liked to take his time.

He pushed Potter away with regret, and cursed his bed for being so large and his nightstand for being so far away. The mere moments it took for him to retrieve the elegant bottle were far too long.

But soon enough he was lying on his back, in his childhood bedroom — surrounded by stories hand-painted in Latin over gold molding, and carved chests bearing his ancestors’ family crests, and an honest-to-goodness marble bust of some distant relative — with his knees pulled up to his chest, presenting himself to Harry fucking Potter.

Somehow, it didn’t bring Draco any panic. Maybe it was something about the way Potter was acting. Casual, like their coupling wasn’t as sensationally stupid as Draco knew every single person in the wizarding world would see it. Serious though, like he wasn’t taking Draco lightly. Like maybe he was trying to savor the sensationalism.

He certainly was taking his time, running his middle finger around Draco’s rim. He was staring intently between Draco’s legs, enough that it couldn’t be passed off as anything other than a distinct avoidance of eye contact. But when he finally pressed in and Draco let out a sound breathier and higher than anything he’d heard come out of his mouth before, Potter looked up sharply, lips parting in absentminded wonder as he watched the expressions flick over Draco’s face.

Those green eyes flicked back and forth so fast Draco couldn’t catch them. It was like Potter was scanning him, trying to take in every detail, as he moved up closer. Again, he tried to bring his lips to Draco’s, but a particularly good thrust of his finger had Draco turning his face to bite into his pillow. Potter kept hovering over him, though, so their breath mingled. Draco felt exposed, and strangely, it had more to due with their proximity than with Potter’s fingers inside him.

He had added a second and Draco’s whines had only gotten more frequent. He was embarrassed by it all, unsure if Potter was uniquely talented, or if Draco’s relative lack of experience had everything feeling better than it was. That made him start thinking about Potter’s own experience, and he cut the thought off before it grew into something ugly.

With his thoughts quieter, he realized Potter was talking.

“God Malfoy, you feel so good,” he whispered. The sound Draco released was unholy, and Potter only pushed harder in response, adding a third finger. “So pretty laid out like this.” A rough and calloused hand pushed through his blonde hair, and Draco hated to admit how the gesture was hotter than anything else that had happened that night. Potter must have noticed, because then his hand was wrapping around a lock and tugging, and Draco frantically clutched at his shoulders, digging his nails in just to release some of the pressure building inside of him.

Still tugging, Potter leaned down to bite at his neck, and then Draco couldn’t take it any longer. “Please,” he begged, weaving his own fingers through Potter’s messy curls. His other hand went down to cover Potter’s, stopping his movements. “Please,” he repeated.

Potter’s breathing was labored, and Draco took pleasure in knowing he wasn’t the only one completely wrecked. But ever the Gryffindor, Potter found the power to gasp out full sentences whereas Draco was reduced to monosyllables.

“Now I know – fuck – I know you’re smarter than that, Malfoy,” he said, dragging Draco’s arms above his head and wrapping a hand around his wrists. “Use your Big Boy words.” He punctuated his request with a thrust of his hips, and Draco floundered a bit at the less-than-subtle reminder of other big-boy factors at work.

“Har—Potter,” Draco whined, rubbing his arse along Potter’s length.

Potter’s grip tightened on his wrists. “ _Words,_ ” he growled into Draco’s neck.

“Fuck me, please, Merlin, I want you to fuck me,” Draco babbled, his cock sliding between the heat of their bodies.

Potter’s movements stopped, his hold loosened. “Look at me,” he whispered, and Draco realized his eyes had been squeezed shut.

When he opened them, he was staring into green. Green like the ties that had choked him for seven years. Green like the jewels that glittered on bony fingers, blueish with the same blood that flowed through his veins. Green like the fields that rolled outside his window, and like the flashes of light he’d seen far too much of in far too little time.

Green like none of that. So completely divorced from Malfoys and Slytherins and spells. Green like the quidditch pitch. Like his favorite potions. Like the sweater his coworkers bought him from a muggle department store.

Green like staring at the back of his head during Charms. Green like throwing hexes at him from across the hall. Green like memorizing his schedule. Like watching him fly past the common room window during his practices. Like shoving fist into shoulder, like throwing boot into nose.

Green was all Draco had ever known, and in that moment, he was almost surprised it had taken him that long to realize it.

When Harry leaned in, Draco met him halfway.

Their lips crashed together, mouths open and panting and hot. It was messy, until Harry slowed his movements, and then it was gentle.

His hand slid down Draco’s body, from neck to chest to waist to hip. It hooked under his thigh, raising his leg just a little bit higher. Draco felt Harry’s cock nudge at his entrance, and his breath hitched in the space between their mouths.

“So pretty,” Harry whispered again. Draco knew it meant something else, though. It meant _don’t worry_ and _I’ve got you_ and _I won’t let it hurt_ and all the other words too soft for them to say to each other.

“C’mon, Golden Boy,” Draco whispered back. “Are you really as good as they say you are?”

And then Harry Potter was inside him. The feeling was at once familiar, with Draco mentally prepared enough from his self-exploration, and so utterly foreign. Harry seemed to recognize the expression, and Draco grew panicked, thinking Harry might veer them dangerously close to kindness again.

But he didn’t. His hips were slow so as not to hurt Draco, but his fingers were pressing bruises into neck, his lips all but absent in the presence of his teeth instead. It wasn’t kind, but it was considerate, and that Draco could handle.

“What do you think?” Harry asked between grunts.

“Wha- what?” Draco responded, unable to think properly with the pleasure that was racking through his body.

“Am I—oh fuck—am I as good as they say I am?”

Harry leaned back in to capture Draco’s mouth in another messy kiss, shifting the angle of their bodies. Both his hands were now wrapped around Draco’s thighs, keeping them up and around his waist. It was a good thing, too, because Draco didn’t trust his own muscles to work anymore, and they’d only been going at it for a minute.

“Hmm?” Harry pressed, question seeping into Draco’s skin.

Their sweat was mingling, the heat between their bodies almost oppressive, but Draco had never felt better in his life. “They don’t—I just said—oh Merlin, Harry,” Draco panted.

Harry bit hard into his shoulder and Draco jerked up at the motion, pressing his arse closer to Harry’s hips. “Say that again, Malfoy,” Harry demanded. “Call me that again.”

Draco couldn’t deny green so bold and insistent. “Harry, Harry, please, Harry,” he rambled, invoking the name with every thrust of Harry’s hips.

Harry’s lips found his again, and his words mingled with his kisses. “Draco, yes, Draco,” he breathed. “What are you gonna tell them, then, huh?”

“I—what?—Har—oh—” Draco stuttered. He was past the point of embarrassment now, but thankfully Harry seemed just as delirious even under his frustratingly coherent speech.

“What are you gonna tell everyone? About how pretty your blonde hair looks in my fingers, your gray eyes when they’re looking up at me.”

Draco froze, the absolute insanity of what they were doing settling over his lust-clouded mind for the first time. “Potter, no—” he started to stutter, but Potter shushed him.

“I didn’t mean it,” he said. “This is just for me,” he reassured. “Nobody needs to know.”

“Can I—” Draco stopped, uncertain. Harry was certain enough for the both of them, his Gryffindor days blazing in full glory. But in one night he had already made Draco bolder than he’d ever felt, and he mustered up some of that courage he felt when this whole thing started. “Can I turn over?” he asked.

Harry smiled, big and easy. “Of course.”

He let Draco settle on his stomach, before scooping a hand under his hips and rearranging his position. Now was not the time for jealousy to twist in Draco’s gut about Harry and his experience, so he told himself to be grateful instead. That was another unfamiliar emotion. There were many of them that night.

Harry slipped back inside him and it felt so easy and natural Draco wondered why they hadn’t done this earlier. He was slow to build his pace back up, though.

“What else do you want?” he whispered in Draco’s ear, hitting a spot Draco had never reached before.

And he knew that, didn’t he? He had watched Draco these past four years working at a job that had been assigned to him. Going to parties he was invited to. Speaking to people who had spoken to him first. Hell, even in their school days Draco had been nothing more than a puppet. His Slytherin friends saw him as a leader, the Gryffindors saw him as a bratty kid who did whatever he wanted. But Harry had always seen his weakness. Had always known Draco was a slave to his last name.

“What do you want?” he repeated.

And Draco had watched Harry these past four years excel at a job he had been chasing. Watched him shove cameras and reporters out of his face. He had watched him all through school, snarking back at professors and refusing dates and insisting on breaking rules. And Draco knew Harry never did anything he didn’t want to. And Draco suddenly felt a lifetime of desire bubble up into the safe and willing hands of Harry Potter.

“Pull my hair,” he asked. Seconds later strong hands were weaving through his long locks, tugging back.

“What else do you want?” Harry purred. Draco whimpered.

“Faster,” he commanded. Harry obeyed.

A chuckle rumbled over his neck, followed by a kiss pressed into the junction between his ear and his jaw. “What else do you want, Draco?” Harry asked.

“Shut up and fuck me,” Draco demanded.

Harry’s chuckle exploded into a laugh, as genuine as his grin had been before. But he didn’t say anything else, just drove his body into Draco’s, drove Draco’s body into the mattress.

Draco was impressed with himself for lasting this long at all, but with every thrust his cock rubbed against the sheets below him. They were silk, sure, and didn’t create much friction, but everything was still just overwhelming enough that he was right on the edge.

He reached behind him, fumbling around, until Harry realized what he was searching for and placed his hand in Draco’s. Draco yanked it up, bringing their hands to his pillow, holding on for dear life. Harry caught on to his desperation and snapped his hips faster, and then Draco was making a mess over his best childhood sheets. He let out a broken sob, and then Harry was following suit, burying his release inside Draco.

He lay there, letting his mind slowly wander back into his body. When an awareness of the world around him lazed back into focus, Draco realized his limbs were numb and everything inside him screamed _tired_.

“Is that… daybreak?” he asked, noticing a haze glowing over the horizon outside his window.

He heard something scuffle against the nightstand, and then Harry spoke. “It’s half past four.” He was still draped over Draco, the weight of him soothing and warm.

Draco snorted. “Good luck getting up tomorrow.” Poor Potter would have to roll into work bleary-eyed and barely able to cast a spell and –

And _Merlin’s beard_ his whole cohort of aurors were in his house, weren’t they? This wasn’t a quick blowjob in the dorms, miles away from the Malfoys and their reputation. Draco had just shagged Harry Potter in full earshot of his entire family and the nation’s most reputable cursebreakers.

And then Draco zeroed in on that one detail. He had just shagged Harry Potter. What was he thinking? He wasn’t, clearly, mind overloaded with lust and not enough ration. What would his friends think? What did _Harry_ think of him now?

Whatever it was, he must have noticed Draco’s sudden tension, because he leaned down to press a kiss into Draco’s shoulder blade. “Stop thinking,” he murmured.

“Potter…” Draco croaked out, unsure and hesitant.

“I said no thinking.”

“I’m not thinking, I’m just trying to _talk,_ you git!” Draco snapped.

Harry stilled, then rolled off Draco’s back, settling into the bed beside him. Draco kept his face resolutely smushed into the pillows, refusing to look at that sharp gaze he felt piercing him.

“Are you…” Harry started. Draco hadn’t ever heard that tone from him before. He’d seen Potter quiet, he’d seen Potter reserved, but he’d never heard his voice so timid before. It was unbecoming, and it forced Draco’s head out of the bedding. Harry’s eyes were half-lidded with fatigue, but still so worried. “Did I just push you into doing something you didn’t want to?”

“Merlin, no,” Draco rushed to say, reaching a hand out. It made contact with Harry’s warm forearm, and he blushed. Fancy that – blushing _now_ , after what they had just done together. “I just… this isn’t me.”

He felt Harry get very still under his hand. “Isn’t you?” he asked quietly.

Draco shrugged and rolled onto his back. “You’re Harry Potter. I’m Draco Malfoy. This isn’t supposed to happen.”

“Aren’t Slytherin’s into breaking the rules?”

“That’s rich, coming from a Gryffindor,” Draco snorted, watching the sun slowly crawl its way over his ceiling. “No, Slytherins aren’t evil little bastards who break all the rules and—” he turned to Harry, rant all queued up, but the expression on Harry’s face stopped him. He had put his glasses back on, and his eyes were focused beneath them. They were amused, and they were fond. “I’m sorry,” Draco blurted out.

An eyebrow arched. “For what?”

“Please, Potter, don’t make me say it. Merlin, I’m so embarrassed right now—”

“You wish we hadn’t? You—”

“It’s not that, it’s just—”

“Well then tell me, Malfoy—”

“ _You_ wish we hadn’t, right?” Draco asked. It almost hurt to say the words out loud. It almost hurt to think them: out of all the people in the Manor at that very moment, all of those viciously judgmental witches and wizards, somehow _Potter’s_ opinion was the most important.

Harry laughed and shifted closer to Draco. “Oh please,” he said. “As if you haven’t noticed me eyefucking you every time we crossed paths in Diagon Alley. Or, Merlin, how much I stared at you during Neville’s holiday party!” Draco just stared at him, and watched his face slowly fall. “Oh, Draco,” Harry whispered. “Did you not notice?”

“You look like that all the time!” Draco said, voice raising in defensiveness.

“Yeah, probably, around you,” Harry muttered.

Draco looked at him. His wild green eyes, his strong jaw. Features familiar and foreign. “This is weird,” he said, even through a smile.

“Hopefully not weird enough where it won’t happen again,” Harry said, wrapping a hand around Draco’s wrist and pulling. Draco let himself be led into the warmth of Harry’s body, tucking his nose into Harry’s neck. He was too tired to care about the weirdness. “Now let me sleep. I’ve got your messes to clean up in the morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first HP fic :) I haven't read the books in... ten years, maybe? So forgive me if the characterization and speech patterns are fucked.
> 
> Morning-after epilogue coming soon!


	2. Epilogue

Morning arrived with a flurry of sparks exploding from Draco’s nightstand.

He ignored them, intrigued by how the attacks on the Manor were getting more localized but ultimately well-enough used to odd happenings that he tried to go back to sleep.

And then he realized that the sparks were not a hex, but a charm, gently streaming from a watch that did not belong to him.

“Shit,” he said, suddenly very awake. “Did that really happen?” he asked the ceiling, and also the boy he just remembered was in his bed.

Harry coughed beside him. “Unless you’d rather I pretend it didn’t. Which I’m hoping isn’t the case. Because yes, it did happen. And I quite enjoyed it.”

Draco rolled his head until his eyes found green.

This was also a new version of Harry. He was getting so many of them lately. This one was rumpled, which was typical, and lazy, which was also typical, and happy, which was not.

Most of the world saw Harry’s fake smile, the one that was too tight and too even to be anything but practiced. The one that appeared on magazine covers and grinned at politicians. Some people, those who actually knew Harry, saw his worried mouth and troubled eyes. The expression he wore when he was just comfortable enough to let his guard down and remind people how much horror he had seen.

Only a handful of people were privy to Harry’s happiness. Draco had watched those people walk arm-in-arm down the Hogwarts hallways. He’d heard them laugh from across the Weasley joke shop. He had seen them share stories that made Harry’s eyes light up, and share hugs that made his eyes go soft.

Like they were now.

Draco was now one of those people.

“I enjoyed it, too,” he said, feeling itchy and hot.

Harry grinned. “I know you did.”

Draco’s brain short-circuited, rotating too quickly between embarrassed and self-righteous and offended and also kind of aroused.

But then whatever response he was going to sputter out was cut off with a kiss, and his brain stopped altogether.

It was one thing kissing the object of his lifelong obsession in the hazy hours of night, with the lights off and his mind clouded by sleep. It was another doing it by day, with every sense as sharp as the light streaming in the window.

Draco felt stubble beneath his mouth, tasted the lingering trace of his own toothpaste. He felt Harry’s nose bump into his, and heard the soft sounds of their lips.

It was like magic. It was like the most ordinary thing.

“Mmm,” Harry said, pulling away. “Let me… just…” He tapped his wand to his watch, and the huff of sparks stopped. When he turned back to Draco his grin was goofy, and Draco had to stop himself from thinking something stupid and mushy and very un-Malfoy-like. “Good morning,” Harry said.

Draco smiled back and hoped he didn’t look as smitten. “Good morning.”

A knock sounded at the door.

“Oh,” Harry remarked, his eyes panicked but his voice artificially pleasant. “It turns out there are other people in the world besides us. Did you forget as well?”

And Draco couldn’t be bothered with Harry’s theatrics right now because _there were other people in the world_ and there was a knock at his door.

“Good morning Mr. Potter,” Narcissa called from behind it.

“Good morning, Mrs. Malfoy,” Harry called back as Draco slipped from the bed. Suddenly feeling awkward, he tried to angle his body as modestly as he could, scraping up his pajama bottoms from the floor. “I’ll be ready in a minute.”

“Oh you’re not late. I’ve just let your team know that there’s breakfast in the dining room, so please do join us when you’re able.”

Draco turned back to see Harry was still lying in his bed. He grabbed his shirt from the floor and threw it, hitting Harry right in the face. He tried to set his features to convey something like _get up, you arse, the last thing we need is to stroll into breakfast together looking disheveled and fucked_ , but Harry only raised an eyebrow.

His mother called out again. “Is my Draco awake?”

Draco cleared his throat, already throwing open his wardrobe and searching for a pressed shirt. “Yes, mother,” he replied.

“Well good. I’ll be seeing you two at breakfast, then.”

Draco heard her heels click softly away, and the room went silent. He paused, then turned to Harry. “Is it just me, or did she say _you two_ like…” He trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence.

Harry was still motionless on the bed.

“Oi, get up,” Draco commanded, marching over. He plucked Harry’s glasses from the nightstand and shoved them on his face.

“Watch it!” Harry complained.

“Get your lazy arse out of my bed.”

“Get off of me!”

Immediately, Draco dropped Harry’s arm from where he’d been tugging it.

Harry sighed. “Look, Draco, I didn’t mean…” And there was that worried mouth and those troubled eyes. Draco missed the happiness. “Please don’t take this the wrong way. I meant it when I said I want more with you. It’s just—”

“—I don’t want anyone to know,” Draco said, matching Harry’s words as he spoke them.

Harry looked up, sharp. “Wait, d’you mean…?”

Draco shrugged. “I’m not ready for it. Not yet.”

Harry looked relieved, shaking his head. “You don’t even want to know the scrutiny you’ll get dating Harry Potter.”

Draco cracked a wry smile. “You don’t want to know the scrutiny you’ll get dating Draco Malfoy.” Harry laughed, that bold bright laugh, the one reserved for his inner circle. “Now can you please get ready? You have a job to do, after all.”

***

It was only when they walked into the dining room together that Draco remembered his shame. They had not been quiet the previous night, and seeing his table surrounded by aurors reminded him to feel that familiar friend _dread_ he’d almost forgotten for twelve strange hours.

But no one really looked up when the two boys joined the group. Harry sat at an open spot near the left end of the room, while Draco took his empty chair at the head of the table on the right. Andromeda wished him good morning and Teddy tried to feed him a half-eaten strawberry. It was all very normal, and that dread melted to excitement when he caught Harry’s eye from across the room, thrilling in their shared secret.

His mother leaned over. “You’re welcome,” she said with a signature Slytherin slyness.

He turned to her, surprised. “What for?”

“It would behoove you to use a silencing charm next time,” she said quietly, turning back to the table and smiling as if she didn’t just say the most mortifying words Draco had ever heard directed his way. “Luckily my room is above yours, and I believe my own wandwork is to thank for your discretion.” Everything in Draco was a fire of embarrassment. “Lucky, too, that I’m a light sleeper. Who knows who else would have woken up.”

“Mother—” Draco started, but she only held up a hand.

“We’ll talk about it tonight. Enjoy your breakfast.”

He felt a reassuring pat on his knee, and for the first time in a long time, Draco was happy to be Narcissa Malfoy’s son.

***

This time, it didn’t take the aurors the whole day to finish their work. By early afternoon Draco was being pushed outside by a burly witch with a manic gleam in her eyes. She had him throw every hex he knew at the Manor (and Malfoys knew quite a lot of hexes) while Narcissa and the team waited inside. Nothing could penetrate the shield around the house, and soon the job was deemed finished and successful.

Handshakes and thanks and graceful acknowledgements were soon being exchanged, and Draco took the distraction of everybody packing up to pull Harry aside into a hallway.

“I’m um, I’m supposed to take Teddy to the zoo today, and well, he was really excited to see you, and I know he wouldn’t want you to go away so soon, but you probably have work to do anyway, but if you don’t—”

Draco stopped rambling when he felt a gentle touch on his wrist. It was there for a moment, on the hand farthest from the great hall, and then gone again.

“Sure,” Harry said easily. “I’ve got to fly back with the aurors, but I can meet you at the floos on the edge of the city in an hour or so.”

“We’re uh, we’re taking the train,” Draco clarified, looking away.

Still, he could see Harry’s grin. “Oh? Well look at you, Mr. _Associate Director of Communications_ at the Muggle Center.”

“How do you know my title?”

“I’ll meet you at the train station, then,” Harry said, ignoring the question. He moved to walk back into the great hall, then turned over his shoulder. “Tell Teddy I’m looking forward to our first date.”

***

Later, in the darkness of the reptile room, hidden from the world, looking at the flying lizards, Harry touched the inside of his wrist, and Draco felt like that better version of himself was finally taking shape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why flying lizards? They belong to the Draco genus :)
> 
> Thanks for reading! My next Drarry fic will be up before Valentine's Day <3


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